


Wanting More

by ThePangolin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Collars, Confessions, Dom Tony Stark, Fluff and Angst, Kneeling, Love Confessions, M/M, No Smut, Sub Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 07:19:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePangolin/pseuds/ThePangolin
Summary: Steve waits for Tony to return home. He gets much more than he bargained for when he does.





	Wanting More

Steve knelt by the fire and tried to resist the urge to check the window again. He had been waiting like this for what felt like hours, his feet were numb and his knees felt like he was resting on nails, but Steve was a good boy, and being a good boy meant waiting in his place until Tony got back home to their apartment, even if Tony was already a hour late and hadn't even bothered to text to say that he was on his way. Not that he had to - that was Steve's rule, not Tony's, and Steve was well aware of the consequences of breaking it - but still, sometimes Tony liked to humour Steve and treat him like his boyfriend, rather than a servant, footrest or a convenient hole to put his dick in. Not tonight, apparently. Steve ached, he was tired (though not yet tired enough to endure a plug up his ass all night in return for the privilege of not waiting up. Tony had been particularly pleased when he came up with that exchange) and Tony wasn't there with him. Everything sucked.

Steve shifted his head slightly to nuzzle at the soft velvet of Tony's chair. Sometimes when he was feeling particularly rebellious he would spread himself out in that chair as he waited, often naked, anticipating and dreading in equal amounts the pure, dark look of lust and rage that it would undoubtedly earn him, but for tonight he was resigned to do nothing more than breathe in the lingering smell of Tony and wait. He wanted to be held, wrapped up and pressed against that sturdy body, to have his head kissed and be told that he was a good boy, that Tony was proud of him for being so obedient and waiting for him all this time. Tony did kiss him, sometimes. Never often, never regularly, so Steve soon learnt to never expect them (or, God forbid, to demand them), but that just meant that when he was graced with the brush of Tony’s lips it was always unexpected, which just made it even more special. Steve loved being kissed. Those chapped lips, surprisingly soft, that took control so easily and made him feel like he was the most important person in the world. The way Tony cupped the back of his neck, not hard or gripping (Steve knew the difference by now), just possessive, steadying. That hand could stay there forever, as far as Steve was concerned. He raised his right hand and tried to replicate the feeling, but the pressure wasn't right and his fingers bit uncomfortably into his neck. A small whimper escaped his lips as he rubbed the pale strip of skin where his collar usually sat. Tony usually only kept him collared during their evenings at home together, but whenever he was away he would lock it in place full-time, forcing Steve to dig out his collection of turtlenecks and high-collar shirts whenever he was in public. As much as he complained about it, Steve thought that having his collar was probably the best part of being separated from Tony. The constant pressure of the thin strip of black leather that Tony always said he looked so pretty in, the soft inside texture gently grounding. Being collared made him feel special, important, like everyone knew that he had been chosen above all others to be Tony's. He treasured every moment he got with his collar. He wished he was wearing it now.

A car engine. Not their purring Bugatti, but something more sluggish. Steve shifted on his knees and tried to catch a glimpse over the windowsill. Perhaps Tony had got a lift home with one of his drinking buddies. Steve whined. Tony did occasionally threaten to bring people home – groups of women to watch his humiliation, men to join in – but he'd never followed through with it before. Steve couldn't deny that it sent a thrill to his cock, the thought of being paraded around like a maid in front of whoever had the good fortune to be chosen. Like a whore, the deeper, more shameless part of his mind said. But no – for all his talk, Tony would never involve other people without clearing it with Steve first. A taxi, then. The thought filled Steve with dread. A taxi meant that Tony was drunk, and drunk Tony more often than not passed out as soon as he hit the bed, leaving Steve to endure the sofa for the night. Steve thought he'd fall apart if he didn't have physical contact right now. He tried to calm his breathing and present a neat posture as a body stumbled into the door and a key turned in the lock.

A beat, then more footsteps, accompanied by the drag of a stabilising hand against the wall. Drunk, then. The footsteps paused, and Steve straightened his spine a little as the dark door swung inwards.

Tony stood in the doorway, disheveled, damp, leaning severely to the right, looking as though he’d made a valiant effort to drink his way through the entire bar. He stumbled groggily towards Steve and petted his hair, earning a high keen, before allowing him to lap the taste of tequila from his fingers.

“Good boy,” Tony rumbled, running his hand down Steve's cheek. “Such a good boy.”

Steve had only a few moments of happy suckling before the fingers were removed, a hand gently grasping the back of his neck to stop him from following them. Then, suddenly, lips. A sloppy, drunken clash of lips and tongue that almost made Steve gag with alcohol fumes but that he wouldn't have pulled away from for the world. Tony's tongue worked quickly, forceful, possessive, claiming Steve’s mouth while exposed teeth drew beads of blood from his lips. It was messy and animalistic and it set every nerve in Steve's body on fire, so that when Tony drew away he automatically chased after, whining for more.

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes flew open. Tony’s face, scared, ruddy, inches from his own, looked real enough, so why was it saying things only found in Steve’s most carefully-concealed fantasies?

“I know when we started this we agreed it would be casual, we'd stay out of each other’s personal lives and just get what we needed, but I can't. I’m going to regret all of this in the morning, but I love you, Steve. I don't expect anything to change, but – “

“I love you too.”

“… What?”

“I love you too. I have done for months. I didn’t say anything because I was scared that you didn't feel the same, and I figured that I needed you more than I needed to let it out. I acted good and did what you asked and tried to not let any of it show, but I am so in love with you.”

“God, how did I ever get this lucky?” Tony smiled softly and ran a calloused thumb over Steve's bottom lip. “Well, it's late, and I'm pissed, and we've both got a Hell of a lot to think about. Shall we talk about it in the morning?”

“That sounds good to me.”

Later, in bed, with a half-dressed and overly-clingy Tony pinning him into the mattress, Steve thought he might be the luckiest man alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think :)


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